


Different Approach

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Gender swap, Beta Read, F/F, Fem!Murder Husbands, Makeup Kink, Missing scene from Yakimono, Season/Series 02, Seduction, fem!Hannibal, fem!will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: After a long time sampling the bitter taste of betrayal, in the squalid cell where Chilton could pick at her brain as he pleased, Gill had decided she intends to succeed where Miriam failed.Written for my solitaryLadies Appreciation Week





	Different Approach

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank Dani (@ustenance on Twitter) enough for having given me the most satisfying praise a writer could ever receive from their beta, in addition to a flawless job

Discreet, unnoticeable rubber soles muffle the regular, soft tickle of her deliberately cautious steps; her immaculate parquet never suffers for the print of her conspicuous heels. Considerable, not high. Hannabel needn’t wear high heels, with her statuesque stance, broad shoulders and sharp features, to inspire a sense of magnetic charm in whoever lays eyes upon her imposing figure.

Under any circumstance, turning back on her requires courage, more than trust; Gill knows better now, after all she’s been through, but more than anything else at the moment she feels _anger_.

“It had to be Miriam, didn’t it?” Her gaze loses itself in the intricate pattern of the familiar carpet under her feet; little to nothing differs from her memories of this place. Not the dim light on the edges, not the specular arrangement of patient and therapist’s chairs, nor the surreal silence embracing their intimate conversations. “She was compelled to take his life, so she could take her own back.”

Lass lost more than just an arm in her confrontation with the Chesapeake Ripper. Her breath had faltered, her neck tendon had tensed, while confessing to Gill her regrettably founded insecurities, touching with disbelieving fingers the artificial limb occupying her left shoulder. Miriam couldn’t consult in the investigation anymore, despite her own best intentions. It would require a long time, before she could reconstruct her own existence.

Hannabel saw to that. “How will you take your life back?”

A number of inappropriate, antagonizing answers cross her mind, as Gill considers the question; her previous attempt at _being done_ with the whole matter with her insufferable psychiatrist, pointing a gun at her head, in her own kitchen, spoke more than eloquently for itself.

Shifting her weight from one foot to another, offering a deliberately offhanded swing of her flanks, Gill turns to face her; her lingering eyes peer from the other side of her artificial mask of light, sober makeup, and her steady posture betrays only traces of her barely noticeable expectance.

After a long time sampling the bitter taste of betrayal, in the squalid cell where Chilton could pick at her brain as he pleased, Gill had decided she intends to succeed where Miriam failed; Gill simply has to try a different approach.

 

 _Her hair has recently been cut_ , Hannabel notices at first glance, before letting Gill walk past her and cross the threshold; prison would have let it grow past her squared shoulders, in a lovely, messy cascade of soft, unruly curls, which Gill most certainly would have gathered in a practical and utterly unflattering ponytail. Much to Hannabel’s delight, the ruffle is gone.

The artificial aftertaste of her dandruff shampoo is gone too.

Sweet notes of white tea and tangerine tickle her sensitive nose, pleasantly complimenting Gill’s natural scent, instead of covering it in overbearing vanilla essence; Hannabel could close her eyes, silently approach her lean waist, impatiently inhale profound breaths, savour its endearing bouquet, but she recognizes the permeating perfume as the cloying kind of fragrance that lingers in confined spaces. The longer Gill remains in the room, the deeper she’ll drown them in it.

An extremely feminine, if not delicate, choice, considering her reluctance in highlighting her womanly traits. Even her still slack jeans seem to follow more diligently the sinuous lines drawn by her uncharacteristically suggestive hips, as she gingerly arches her tweezed eyebrows; Hannabel pictures her in front of the mirror with a focused expression, cursing every hair considered as out of place on her lovely face.

She regrets not having witnessed her sweet, domestic distress.

Idly wandering towards the chair reserved for patients, courting its soft, dark leather with indecisive fingers as if contemplating occupying its seat, Gill primly moistens her lips. Searching for words, eyes downcast. “Do you remember when you invited me to your dinner party?”

How could Hannabel not. “I remember you declining my invitation, asserting you had a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.” The irony wouldn’t escape Gill, now that she finally _knew_.

Inclining her exposed neck, Gill lets a stray lock caress her bitter smile, not attempting to correct her assumption. In retrospect, her suffering in knowing of Hannabel’s illicit proclivities and her disgust at the prospect of being served human flesh feels like peeling a layer of her soft skin, to put salt underneath.

“You told me I should wear some makeup for the occasion,” Gill observes. Her clear, intense gaze clings to Hannabel’s searching look; forfeiting her reluctance for steady eye contact, Gill delights her with the dark shadows veiling her almost grey irises, straightening her spine in a confident pose.

With unhurried hands, Gill retrieves a small case from under the coat wrapped around her arm, its contents not substantial enough to fatten its insides. As she leisurely opens it and displays the array of brushes, sponges and foundation palettes contained within it, Hannabel marvels at her purposeful implicit request.

 

In an attempt to better catch the admittedly not exactly bright light in the room, Gill had seated herself on the edge of the mahogany desk, careful not to disturb the prior arrangement of sheets and items lying on its surface. Hannabel has visibly appreciated the courtesy, as much as the closeness on which she could imposingly dictate.

Resting an arm on her bent leg, supporting her shoulders with the other one, Gill leans forward, exposing her pale, delicate throat, without moving further; Hannabel had previously betrayed her interest in that candid, unmarked portion of her body, feeling it through gloved hands, in her tactile conveyance of comfort.

As her concentrated eyes detachedly study Gill’s relaxed features, her rapid strokes drag trails of powder along her cheeks. Gill knows her fingertips long to get rid of the plastic brush and instead directly rub the colour on her skin, yet her steady hand patiently keeps working with different shades of blush. Samples of the available tones still soil her wrist, after Hannabel illustrated to her the way to choose an adequate concealer, and neglected to offer her a cleansing wipe.

As if she wants to keep Gill in place, deprive her of the opportunity to move and, consequently, to flee; Gill wouldn’t attempt to escape from the trap she set herself, however. After all, she is the bait.

“I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation,” she says, anchoring Hannabel’s attention on her still unadorned mouth. Speaking slowly, without disturbing her work. “Despite the questionable source of your meat, of which I wasn’t aware, I would hardly have been presentable.”

Despite her absorbed attention, Hannabel acknowledges her observation with a quick contraction of her eyebrows; pride visibly swells her generous breast, as she gently reproaches, “You needed guidance.” _Which I repeatedly turned down_ , Gill supplies in her mind, letting Hannabel savour her complacent grin and her languidly half-closed lids.

To foster her own alluring illusion, Gill deems it necessary to get dangerously intimate with her most unsavoury nature; Hannabel aims to unchain Gill from her less socially acceptable restrains, uncovering the feral creature she secludes into the darkest recesses of herself, however the empathic disorder that allows her to anticipate her insistent demands isn’t the sole virtue at her disposal.

Conscious, repeated neglect in regards to her professional, insipid wardrobe and poorly groomed appearance wouldn’t diminish the admittedly beautiful woman under Gill’s unflattering disguise; by her own choice she feigned otherwise, but she can _present_ herself worthy, sophisticated, much like a creature Hannabel would land her proud eyes upon.

In order to embrace the discarded remains of her feminine nature, before succumbing to darker extremities of the very same, according to her off the record therapist, Gill shaved most of her uncooperative body, purchased expensive lingerie and made an appointment with her long forgotten hairdresser, who fortunately demonstrated mutual forgetfulness.

Gill has forfeited most of her flannel, over her distractingly silken underwear, on the occasion of her forthright seduction. She aims to appeal to Hannabel’s aesthetics without sliding into crassness; she prepares accordingly. She drew the line at manicurist and beauticians’ hands within her personal space. Gill reserves for Hannabel’s sensitivities the subtle pleasure of intruding into biting distance.

After all, her straight teeth have already torn into human flesh. Hannabel saw to that too.

As her downcast eyelids raise to trace the rhythmic arches described by Hannabel’s precise, lithe wrist, Gill entertains her increasingly less focussed mind with vivid images of those hands cuffed behind her back. Dressed in prison denims, bars separating them, with herself on the _other_ side; Gill distracts herself contemplating her righteous purposes, instead of succumbing to the soft caresses on her face.

Sighing her distaste for her own helpless hunger for gentle touches, Gill casually outlines her modest cleavage, letting Hannabel’s attentive gaze lay on the sparse freckles adorning her collarbone. Her attention shifts minutely, ceasing to wander on Gill’s powdered skin, as she considers her next item; Gill can sense her desire to interact with her lips, one way or another.

Surprising her with an unconventionally direct approach, Hannabel grazes her obliging mouth with intent, decisive strokes of the only cheap lipstick at her disposal, dismissing lip balm and lip liner entirely; despite her utter incompetence with pigments and textures, when it comes to makeup, Gill knows one can _not_ simply cover lips in gloss.

Gill relives in her bold eagerness; she had wanted Hannabel to appraise the necessary improvement Gill could accomplish, under her tutelage. She had wanted Hannabel to fantasise about painting her pliable lips with an audacious tone of red of her choosing, which shouldn’t suit her as she’s sure it would.

Hannabel doesn’t know Gill is not going to let her.

Savouring the only opportunity she is going to grant them both of unhurried, shared intimacy, Gill lets the first cold touch of rouge paste plaster itself on her open mouth, melting to her own warmth. Against all expectations, Gill basks in the moment of quiet, mutual compliance; Hannabel is all too aware of their suffocating proximity. Gill dares allow Hannabel in her comfort zone, close enough to kiss, binding her touch to the sole black lipstick tube between her fingers.

Fluttering her eyelids, Gill seriously considers consenting to more than the inexorably unsatisfying caresses she has permitted so far. Noticing her insistent glaze, Hannabel forsakes part of her complete devotion to the task assigned. “What are you thinking about?”

“I was wondering if you asked her which arm she’d rather have severed.”

 

Rather than plaster Gill’s posed upper body along the entire length of her pristine desk, with the intent of reaching for her hidden scalpel and running its sharp edge against her unscarred breastbones, shirt and undergarments still on, Hannabel smoothly relocates her out of her pants and on the therapist’s chair, spreads her bare thighs and kneels herself in between them.

Moistening her thin lips with a brief, impatient lick, Hannabel delights at Gill’s choice of an unremarkable pattern, over her trimmed pubic hair, as she slides her unadorned panties past her little ankles; warm skin lays underneath creamy, smooth silk.

Undeserving denim lies discarded at their feet, as she sinks her thumb into Gill’s wet entrance, parting her vaginal lips for the sole purpose of having them slide back into place; Hannabel wonders whether unfamiliar hands previously coaxed her hesitant disclosure with bold, lascivious ministrations.

Gill is soft at her touch, as are her deep breaths, under her covetous, greedy eyes.

With meticulous caresses, Hannabel strokes her sensitive sex, covering her own palm in sticky, translucent humours; eliciting sweet, delectable whimpers from her trembling, pliable mouth, Hannabel marvels at her copious secretions.

Conscious of her light makeup, Gill visibly resists the urge to cover her red stained lips, her closed eyes, to seek shelter against distracting impulses; tensing her lithe, inviting neck, she bows her head towards her nude shoulder.

Persuading with purposeful fingers her inner thigh to widen the arch described by her iliac wings, Hannabel considers twisting her in other uncomfortable positions; Gill’s beautiful body bent on her silken linens, Gill’s frantic hands wrapped around her wooden bedpost, incapable of struggle against gentle restrictions, at her complete mercy by Gill’s own volition.

Dipping her index and middle fingers up to her second knuckles into her slick warmth, Hannabel turns her attentive gaze to her erect nipples, swelling at her almost impersonal touch; she briefly contemplates leaning forwards to mouth at them through her light garments.

Her entire body looks delicious, from her perspective.

Running her unoccupied hand on her trembling flank, Hannabel undresses ample portions of her warm skin, partly assuaging their reciprocal hunger for tactile disclosure; before long, Gill’s hand covers hers along its unhurried path. Her delightful whimpers resound in their otherwise quiet surroundings.

Tightening Gill’s pert breast in the palm of her hand, Hannabel wonders about the unspoken facets of truth permeating their deafening silence. Hannabel indissolubly wants to consume her; she’s not completely convinced she can, though.

Intense pleasure prompts Gill to tilt back her head and clench her fists, as Hannabel stimulates her clit with slow rounds of her thumb. Her toes curl in endearing impatience, her grasp stiffens around Hannabel’s firm grip. Her reactions are incredibly charming, Hannabel could keep her on pins and needles for hours, alternatively intensifying and lessening her ministrations, would her expression reveal her continually shifting emotions.

Nailing her sweaty pelvis down with steady hands, Hannabel abruptly ceases her insistent strokes, keeping her from protracting onwards in a futile attempt to achieve her eagerly-awaited orgasm. Her sweet, addictive desperation, as Hannabel admires the long thread of vaginal fluids following her retracting hand, tastes even stronger.

Gill’s displeased moans softly part from her chewed lips, as Hannabel’s tongue replaces her own fingers on her wet cunt; Gill might not be completely selfless, in her luscious surrender, but she’ll be sure to participate in her utterly honest pleasure.

Arching her adept tongue against her inviting slit, Hannabel savours her strong, cloying taste, licking her insistently, unrelentingly, burying her nose in her short, ruffled fuzz; her shaking hand wanders through Hannabel’s silken hair, caressing her scalp with devotion, filling Hannabel’s senses with her overwhelming essence.

Moaning aloud her appreciation for the increasing suction, Gill thrusts her hips against the source of her pleasure, preparing herself for her inexorably approaching climax, experiencing mounting panic at the prospect of coming by Hannabel’s mouth. Hannabel can almost taste her naked emotions on the tip of her own tongue.

Pinching her pert, sensible nipple with playful fingertips, Hannabel pushes her to the verge of her climax and tips her over; Gill voluptuously twists her waist, takes deep breaths, sinking her fingers further, almost painfully, in Hannabel’s skull. As her breaths regain a certain regularity, Hannabel licks her generous juices from her own lips.

Gill lays languidly sprawled on her chair, yet her expression betrays unmistakable dissatisfaction. Her brief name, so tempting to extend in longer variations, is on the tip of Hannabel’s tongue, before Gill grabs a handful of her hair and kisses her instead.

Her drying humours mingles with cheap lipstick, smearing her pointed chin, her cruel mouth, her assertive lips, as Hannabel inhales directly from her supple skin their natural odour similarly blended in an intoxicating combination, her permeating perfume long covered by her distinct odour.

“What are you going to sever from me?” Gill breathlessly asks, suddenly disrupting their intimacy, setting her features in a hard, unforgiving grimace. “Will I have the privilege to choose?”

“My dear,” Hannabel exposes her sharp teeth in an unexpectedly soft smile, caressing with careful touches her red stained cheek. “I would much rather not penetrate you with a knife, all things considered.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know, I think I’ll start adding the tag #NothingHappens to my fanfictions. Over the next few days all my attention is going to be focussed on female characters ♀ enjoy my solitary [Ladies Appreciation Week](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/tagged/Ladies-Appreciation-Week) on Tumblr.  
> Now with a [short sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246243/chapters/30994281) :)


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